by Tom DeMarco
“I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, what could we ask more than the talent we have assembled in this room?”
“A dentist?” suggested Williams.
“We could use an arrowsmith,” said Loren. “Also a naval tactician. A few hundred experienced street fighters might be nice for our defense. We could use someone who knew how to build a steam engine. We haven’t got a single farmer here. We’re a bunch of dunderheads when it comes to growing rice and beans. We’ll be OK for the short term, but in the long run we’ll have to grow our food. We don’t even have a good commercial fisherman, someone who can keep the nets from tangling. Most of all, to defend ourselves, we are going to need…”
“Of course. Of course.” Chandler looked almost pleased at the objections. “We have a challenge before us, as you have so eloquently pointed out, Loren. And we will meet that challenge. Because, ladies and gentlemen, we are intellectuals. That is our great strength.” A significant pause. Chandler, the only one standing, radiated confidence down upon them. Give them a lesson in leadership. Impossible to miss the similarity between his own smiling acceptance of challenge with that of a Jack Kennedy, for example. The torch has been passed and Chandler has caught it. Or maybe you don’t catch a passed torch, maybe you “accept” it. He pondered that for a moment while the others waited.
“We have accepted the torch that has been passed. The torch of…of guardianship. Anyway, we have accepted it. And now the task that confronts us is to set the ship of civilization off on its proper course, never deviating from the direction that we will choose here today. A course, mind you, that leads forward, ever forward. And toward the horizon. It is nothing less than that which must be our goal. The horizon. I think I make myself clear.” A benevolent smile. He lifted both hands in a gesture of peace and optimism. “And now, it falls to us to determine just where exactly that horizon is.”
Homer nodded toward the Atlantic. “Over that way, last time I looked.”
“Yes. Dr. Layton directs us toward the sunrise. I think that is particularly appropriate, that we stride forward into the dawning of a new era.”
“Actually, I was looking more north than east.”
“Uh huh. There is no question that our way leads through the cold and the bitter before it can turn toward the sun. There will be adversity along the way. Who could say it won’t be true? Adversity and challenge lie ahead. But sometime within the lives of those present, we shall arrive at the horizon that we envision today. And when we arrive at the horizon, where exactly will we be?”
“Nowhere,” said Sonia. “You can’t ever arrive at a horizon.”
Chandler looked hurt. “At first we will be nowhere, and then finally somewhere. Do you see what I mean? This is very important. To end up somewhere, we have got to know where we’re heading. And that is why I have convoked this council meeting this morning. To give us direction. I don’t just mean to decide who has cleanup detail or who goes looking for more supply of Brillo, or even who is to teach Latin to the sixth grade. All those things are important. But the charter today is to determine the guiding rationale for our new society. We are undertaking nothing less than the redesign of an entire culture.
“I know that is not going to be easy. We need to set aside all the little questions and go directly to major ones. We need to rethink everything. The exercise this morning is to redesign culture. Dean Sawyer, we’re going to be generating a great number of ideas this morning as part of our exercise. Could I ask you to serve as scribe, perhaps jotting things down on this blackboard for us? That will keep the important ideas from being lost. Now who will begin in the great redesign? What is the first thing that comes to mind for our new directions?”
He looked around encouragingly. It was necessary to overlook the fact that Edward Barodin was rolling his eyes upward in dismay.
Claymore had a hand up. Chandler frowned at him, but he spoke up anyway. “We’re redesigning everything, is that what you say?”
“Uh, yes. That is what I said, Mr. Layton.”
“Well then, sheets have to be redesigned.” It was so obvious as not to need further comment. Claymore sat back, waiting for someone else to make a similarly useful suggestion.
Chandler was stunned. “Sheets?”
“Yes. They have to be made long enough to tuck in at the ends. I mean, it’s just ridiculous the way they are today. Crazy. Way too short.”
A thick silence. Maria Sawyer crossed to the blackboard. “There’s a beginning for us. This is going to be easy.” She wrote 1. LONGER SHEETS on the blackboard. “Now, what else?”
Chandler was grinding his teeth.
Loren spoke up. “I know one thing that’s on the horizon and it doesn’t bode well for us. We are going to get attacked. A navy of sailing vessels is going to come sailing down upon us, armed to the teeth with whatever weapons they can put together. They are going to be looking for blood. We have thumbed our nose at an enormous, powerful establishment, absolutely frustrated it from carrying out its will. And for the moment, we’ve gotten away with it. It’s been thirty some days since we turned the switch. So far, we haven’t seen any response at all. But that doesn’t mean it’s not coming. It is coming. They will figure out where we are and come after us. And when they come, it won’t be to discuss redesign of culture and society. This is not funny. There will be no talking with these people, only fighting. Every moment that we have free can only be dedicated to planning for our defense.
“We’re at war. We’re outnumbered. We have almost no weapons. Homer sent us out to buy crossbows that last day in Fort Lauderdale. We went to maybe five sporting goods stores. Do you know how many crossbows we found? One. That’s our heavy artillery, one crossbow. We bought twelve archery target sets. That means we have twelve bows and thirty six arrows. Thirty six arrows! Fairly soon we are going to see a fleet of perhaps dozens of boats with hundreds of armed men on board. They’re going to sail into this very bay. When they locate us, it’s going to be all over. All over, unless we are prepared.”
Senator Hopkins waved his hand dismissively. “These are the minor things I was talking about…”
“Minor!?!”
“These are the little things, a viable defense, the length of bed sheets, hundreds of such things. Of course we’ll have to consider each of them in turn, each in its time. But what I’d like you to consider now are the fundamentals of the philosophy that shall guide us. Questions like shall we construct a democracy, or a benevolent dictatorship…or perhaps even a monarchy?” He had always harbored a certain taste for royalty. Why not a royal system? Why not have dukes and knights and, who knows, perhaps one day even a king? Chandler the First, it had a certain ring to it. “These are the matters that must concern us. What form of government, what philosophical underpinnings, what principles of formation. We should perhaps think of drafting a constitution. Or at least a Declaration of Independence, something that we all sign and…”
“Philosophical underpinnings,” said Loren, his voice strained, “let me tell you about philosophical underpinnings. My philosophical underpinnings put great store in staying alive. When the navy of killers comes sailing into the bay, my underpinnings tell me to resist. They tell me to invest all my energy in personal survival. Maybe we need to divide into two groups with you and whoever else is interested working on your Declaration while the rest of us figure out how to avoid getting butchered.”
“And if history looks back at your little group, all caught up in minor and short term worries, how will it compare to our circle of august thinkers who put philosophy first, who chose their directions carefully to achieve all the ends in a consistent and efficient fashion.”
“History will see us as Survivors. And your circle of august thinkers will be remembered as a…as a…”
“A circle jerk,” Edward finished up.
Homer looked up. “Perhaps we do need to take a little time to select our directions, as Chandler says.”
“Jesus, Homer, time is what we haven’
t got. They’re practically on us.” Loren looked around at the group. “You are all thinking that they’ll take forever to find us because Cuba is big. You think they’ll be looking for a needle in a haystack. But they don’t have to search for us. We came here for three reasons: to eastern Cuba because it was empty, and to Baracoa because of the hydropower station, and to be as far upwind as possible, to give us the advantage of the wind if there is to be a sea battle. They can reconstruct our logic, and then they’ll know precisely where we are. It’s like a game of chess. You don’t spend all your time thinking about your own strategy—you spend time thinking about what the other fellow is likely to do and why. They can figure out precisely where we’ve come, using the same thought process that guided us here in the first place.”
Homer had a hand on Loren’s sleeve. “Yes. All that is true. We have no time. But still, even with so much to do, it makes sense for us to pause for just this hour to organize ourselves. We should have done it before. I should have thought of it. I didn’t.” He looked tired. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes without their usual luster. “Chandler has thought of it. He has proposed to organize us. So I say, let him do it.”
“But Homer…”
“Let him do it because I don’t know how. I don’t know how to administer. That is what he is good at. If we are to survive, it will be through the efficient use of each of us, each person doing what he or she is best at. As Chandler says, we have here the almost intact government of a university. We are a small community, so we can be run as a university, why not? Good administration will help the rest of us to get on with what we have to do.”
He looked up at Chandler who was still standing. Homer’s expression was suddenly and uncharacteristically hard. “I give you this Chandler,” he said. “I will let you be boss. It is me who is doing this, me, Homer Layton. Because this is my show. This is not a democracy, but a tyranny. I am the tyrant. I am the only one who has authority here, the only one. I turned the switch. Everyone else is just along for the ride. I give you some of that authority. You can be our leader. I give you the position, which you seem to want, and which you can probably handle as well as anyone else. I give you the position, but I can take it back. You have to understand that. It is a temporary stewardship. When I take it back, it won’t be for myself, but for the natural leader who will emerge. That may take some time. And some trial by fire. But a leader will emerge, I am confident of that. When that leader has begun to assume authority, neither your agreement nor even mine will be required. At that time, you will step down. You understand that?”
Chandler nodded, his face pale. Homer looked down toward his hands. He wouldn’t speak again for the rest of the meeting.
“Well,” Chandler said. “Well. That was the sort of thing I was referring to as ‘major,’ you see.” He swallowed before going on: “I think we…needed to go through that. To decide among ourselves, well, actually only among yourself, Homer, to decide how we would govern our little community. And I do think the decision you made, which I fully concur with, is the right one. Yes. We can be organized along the lines of a small university, with president, chancellor, bursar and deans, et cetera, all carrying out their normal functions. Our two deans will serve as governors of their respective parts of the community. We have three humanities professors here who will organize the schooling of the young people. I think there are nearly forty teachers all in all, and these will report to our three professors. I will draw up a hierarchy to make it all official. The functions of food and logistics fall rather naturally to our head organization man, Chancellor Brill. Proctor Pinkham will be responsible for discipline. Since we are very much concerned with defense for the reasons set out by Dr. Martine, and since defense of the island is a kind of discipline problem, I think Proctor Pinkham should take charge of that as well. Captain Van Hooten, as our senior naval officer will report to the Proctor. Dr. Martine has shown an impressive grasp of the defense problem, so I shall ask him also to report to the Proctor. Perhaps, Homer, all of your staff could be transferred over to the Proctor to concern themselves with defense.”
Loren gave a low groan.
Chandler ignored him, pressing on. “And the rest of the scientists, as well. They will assist Proctor Pinkham in fashioning a truly scientific defense of our position. Now, as to the function of the bursar…yes, was there a question? Dr. Suzikaya?”
It was Francis Suzikaya, past president of the Academy. “Yes, Chandler, thank you. You have referred to the roles of the president, chancellor, proctor and bursar. Aren’t you passing over the rather important function of the Provost?” A pause, dripping with significance. Suzikaya had been Provost of the University of California. “The Provost, as you know, is the chief academic officer of a university, or of a community. It is his function to direct the community in every truly essential sense.” A chilly smile. “I have always thought of the rest of the university hierarchy as serving mostly to carry out the direction determined by the Provost.”
There was no mistaking this for anything but a naked power grab. Chandler poised himself for a quick counterattack. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks: Suzikaya was a chink. Suzikaya was undoubtedly the chink, the one mentioned in the dream. Well actually, he was Japanese, so he would more precisely be called a “gook.” But still. It must have been Suzikaya that the dream referred to with the awful words “Beware the Chink” Shit. A direct challenge to his authority, authority he had been handed only a few minutes ago. He turned to Homer for support, but Homer was nodding off.
“It is the Provost,” Suzikaya was carrying on, “who sets the standards that govern the entire community. And that function, I believe is every bit as essential here as it is to any university. Modesty forbids that I mention who in this assemblage has already demonstrated a superb capability to fill the role of Provost at a major university. But suffice to say that I stand ready to serve again as Provost, should that be desired.” He looked significantly at Chandler.
“The domain of the provost would be entirely academic, one trusts?”
“No, of course not.”
“No, of course not.” Clear bitterness in the Senator’s voice. His own provost at Cornell had been a royal pain in the ass, always interfering and lecturing him about “integrity,” and “the dictates of Truth.” And that dundering old idiot (Chandler had forgotten his name) had not ever figured in a dream, had never been the subject of an explicit warning from Third. Time for an exercise in damage containment. He shifted his gaze further down the table, appearing to ignore Suzikaya. Then, still not looking directly at his tormentor, and with an air of utter boredom: “Just as a matter of interest, Francis, how, in your view, should the provost, if there were to be a provost at all, how should that provost interact with his president?”
Suzikaya bowed low from the waist. “As a trusted and loyal subordinate.”
This fellow was dangerous and devious. It might be most prudent to keep him directly under one’s thumb rather than leave him on the outside, a loose cannon. Chandler returned the bow. “Then I think, if there be no objection from the group, I think the honorable gentleman from California, Dr. Suzikaya, might be prevailed upon to serve as our provost.”
“With pleasure, Mr. President.” Suzikaya bowed again, the trusted and loyal subordinate to a tee.
21
A GAME OF CHESS
“Loren…” It was Kelly approaching down the dock with a short, smiling Chinese man in tow. “I wonder if you’ve ever met Peter Chan.”
Loren stood to offer his hand. There had been a Dr. Chan listed as part of the community — in the master list that Stacey was compiling — but Loren hadn’t met him yet. He hoped the man had a useful specialty like internal medicine or pediatrics. “Dr. Chan.”
“Dr. Martine. This is an honor. I read your paper, ‘A discrete algebra of particle interaction.’”
“You did?”
Kelly was stepping on Loren’s foot. “It was just a piece of luck that Dr. Chan happ
ened to be down from Princeton to attend Homer’s award dinner. It was a long way to come, all the way from Princeton. Princeton.” The pressure of Kelly’s foot increased.
“Oh. Dr. Peter Chan from Princeton. Sir, I am doubly honored to make your acquaintance. Of course I know of your work. We use your textbooks at Cornell. That is, we prevailed on the math department to use them to prepare science students in the calculus of sets and in predicate logic.”
The little man looked very pleased. When he smiled, his eyes became almost invisible in the crinkles of his face. “Good for royalties,” he said, “if royalties ever come back again. Very good.” He shook Loren’s hand again. “We must talk one day about discrete algebras. I would look forward to that. One day. Not today. Because you are quite busy. I can see that.”
“Yes. We’re preparing three boats to set out for Guantanamo. Now that we have some electric power, we want to set up radar in the heights to look out for an invasion. It’s going to come, you know.” Loren never missed a chance to explain the need for vigilance.
“Oh yes. Highly probable. I have computed the odds. Highly probable.”
“The radar we have working on Yunque mountain now is just a little shipboard unit taken from one of the yachts. It’s rather unreliable when mounted up high. So we hope to salvage some real radar from the base.”
“Yes. Yes. I understand. You must carry on your important work. Most important. Because the consideration of lovely abstract thoughts like mathematics depends on not being skewered by bad people with knives and arrows.” He shook Loren’s hand a third time. “And now I must go back. I too am involved in the defense. I am constructing a cross bow under the guidance of Mr. D.D. Pease. We will have one for every vessel before long.”
